


Oh, Mickey, You're So Fine

by guardianhathaway (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, High School AU, Holding Hands, Idk What the hell this is, M/M, i just wanted ian to have neck tattoos and mickey to wear buddy holly glasses, kind of a role reversal?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/guardianhathaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holy shit. Mickey Milkovich has a hot boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. strange love

"So he's, like, gay now?" Jessica Tanner asks her table of ogling companions.

"But he's so hot," Ashley Hopkins argues.

"They could just be friends," Leslie Jones suggests.

A rude snort startles the gawking cheerleaders and they all turn towards the other end of the table. A girl with black hair and blue eyes is smirking back at them.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," she informs them with false cheeriness. "But Ian Gallagher is gay as a goddamn Christmas tree."

Jessica sneers at the unwelcome opinion. "And what the hell do you know?" she asks the mysterious stranger.

"Well," the girl sing-songs, grinning, "I know exactly how hard he likes to give it based on the screams coming from my brother's bedroom last night."

Three shocked, appalled faces gape back at her.

"Wait a minute," Jessica says, holding her hands up, palms out. " _That_ is your brother?"

They all turn their heads to look across the courtyard where said brother sat with their ("allegedly" gay) resident bad boy. They're sitting under a tree, leaning back against the thick trunk with their legs tangled together out in front of them. Ian has a guitar on his lap, strumming it with knobby fingers as his head hangs lazily to the side, his hooded gaze focused on none other than Mickey Milkovich.

Yeah, _that_ Mickey Milkovich.

The king of the nerds is reading, of course. His nose is always in a book about dragons or mermaids or some other kind of dork erotica. He's completely oblivious to the soft, dopey way Ian is watching him as he plays his guitar. Mickey just sits staring at the book in his lap, shoving his thick, Buddy Holly glasses up his nose every few minutes.

"Oh, my gosh!" Leslie crows, turning back to the weird girl invading their table. "You're Mandy Milkovich!"

"Seriously?" Mandy deadpans. "I have three classes with you."

Leslie looks horrified. "I'm taking _three_ classes?"

"Hold up," Jessica butts in. "You're Dorkus Maximus's sister? And you think he's fucking Ian Gallagher?!"

"I know he is," Mandy says.

"No way," Leslie argues. "I heard a rumor just last week that Ian had sex with Angie Zago in the east stairwell."

"Ewww!" Mandy and Jessica shriek.

"Jesus Christ, I did not need that mental image."

"You so made that up, Leslie!"

"Did not! Brad Mayrell told me so!"

"Oh, my God!" Ashley exclaims, slapping her hands on the table and hopping out of her seat. "This is ridiculous," she informs them before turning on her heel and marching across the quad.

"What is she—"

"She's not going to—"

Leslie and Jessica share a wide-eyed look before scrambling out of their seats and dashing to catch up with their friend. Mandy snickers into her fist and thanks God she didn't skip today.

She would've missed a helluva show.

They hear the stampede of Adidas and swishing pleated skirts before they see them. Mickey looks up, tensing when he sees a gaggle of cheerleaders heading straight for them. He marks his place in his book and sets it aside slowly.

Ian, as usual, is completely unconcerned. He barely turns his eyes away from Mickey to cock a questioning eyebrow at Ashley Hopkins, who stops right at their feet, grinning down at the boys with her arms folded.

"Hi Ian," she coos sweetly. Her brown eyes flicker to the side briefly. "Oh, Mickey. You're here, too."

Her tag-alongs gasp with fake shock and titter behind their manicured hands. Mickey turns red, as mortified as he is furious. He opens his mouth to tell the bitch off, but Ian beats him to it.

"Hey Ashley," the redhead greets her in that easy way of his. "You're not lost, are you? The free clinic's that way."

All three cheerleaders' jaws drop as Ian jerks his head in the opposite direction and stares back at them with a challenge in his eyes.

Ashley starts sputtering. "I'm not—I do not go—I would _never_ —"

"So what is it this time?" Ian asks conversationally. "Warts, chlamydia? Oh, jeez. It's not that nasty gonorrhea again, is it?"

Leslie and Jessica giggle behind her with wide mouths. Friend or not, they're gobbling up Ian's words like Hungry Hungry Hippos.

Ashley gets a little green around the gills.

"I do not have STDs, Ian Gallagher!" she shouts, probably louder than she meant to. She glances around at the curious heads turned their way before looking down her nose at Ian with a mean smirk and raising her voice. "After all, I'm not the one giving it to Mickey Milkovich up the ass, am I?"

Then she grins like she's won. Like she thinks she's not about to be torn to shreds.

Ian glares back at her impassively, and Mickey is so glad that expression has never been aimed at him. It's a little scary, the way Ian's eyes go flat with barely-contained rage and his lips harden into a straight line. The swallow tattooed on his neck tenses and sways with the strain of his jaw.

Okay, it's really scary.

"The fuck did you just say to me?"

If Ashley has any sense, she'll walk away right now. Because Mickey wouldn't put it passed his boyfriend to deck her right in her smug face. He knows Ian doesn't care that she's a girl or _someone's daughter_ or whatever the fuck. Right now, she's a problem. And Ian Gallagher has a certain way of dealing with his problems.

He sets his guitar aside gently, deliberately, before standing in a fluid motion that makes Ashley twitch. Mickey shoves his glasses up his nose and scrambles to his feet with far less grace.

"Ian," he pants, eyes darting between his murderous-looking boyfriend and the poor girl shaking like a leaf in front of him. "Ian, c'mon, man, we got class. Just let it go."

There's, like, an 90% chance that is so not going to happen, but Mickey's a little desperate. It's been months and he still hasn't gotten the hang of talking Ian down from the blinding rage that sometimes fills his chest and warps his vision. The panicked, caged-animal feeling that takes over when his emotions get away from him.

He tells Mickey about it, of course. Tells him about how sometimes, when he gets like this, when his whole being slips through his fingers like sand and Ian loses himself, he wants to punch into flesh with all his might, wants to feel bones give under his knuckles. He doesn't want to yell or break a plate like a 'normal' person. He gets this desire, this need to break _everything_. Like he wants to go down in a fiery rage and take every damn one of them with him.

So yeah, he's got anger management issues, and Mickey has a little trouble keeping up sometimes.

"Ian, c'mon," he mumbles. "You can't get kicked out now, man."

Ian won't look at him. He keeps his hard gaze fixed on Ashley. He is so still; a cobra poised to strike, muscles taut as a wire. Mickey doesn't take his eyes off him. He can do this, he knows he can. He can be the anchor Ian needs to bring him back down, to show him that there's someone on his side.

Ian is his own worst enemy. His _me vs the world_ mentality has him so fucked in the head, Mickey doesn't even know how the kid keeps his cool the majority of the time. He's usually so calm and laid back, relaxed in nearly any environment he may find himself in. But when Ian loses that cool, he loses it bad.

"Ian, baby," Mickey murmurs low for his ears only.

Like a sudden flood of spring rain, Ian's entire body relaxes and he exhales in a _whoosh_. The relief is palpable. Jessica even gives a fluttery little gasp at the sudden change in the bad boy's demeanor. She quickly folds her arms over her chest and juts out her chin to save face.

Ian turns his head and catches Mickey's gaze. He gives him a tiny smile and nods once before leaning down to grab his guitar. Mickey snatches up his book and prepares to follow Ian into the school.

He holds the library's copy of _Atlas Shrugged_ in his left hand. He feels knobby, gentle knuckles hesitantly brush the back of his right hand. Without thinking, Mickey spreads his fingers and turns his palm up slightly. Ian's hand slides along his and he intertwines their fingers, securely locking them together. He gives Mickey a little tug and leads the way across the courtyard.

A sea of faces gawk at them with dropped-jaws and wide eyes.

_Holy shit._

Mickey Milkovich has a hot boyfriend.

Pause. Rewind.

Mickey _Milkovich_ has a **hot** boyfriend.

When Ian Gallagher walks down the hallways, he struts with subdued confidence, jeans hung low on his hips and back muscles moving against his tight t-shirt. When he skips class to sneak under the bleachers on the football field, he leans with his head tilted back against the support beams, pale, freckled neck taut, smoke curling from his nostrils. When he reaches up to grab a book from a high shelf in the library, his shirt goes with him, exposing slivers of lean arms and hips. Everything he does feels like a calculated move to cause sexual frustration.

His red hair is long and slicked back, always. His stupid leather jacket is weathered and forms to his body like a second skin. His neck and sleeve tattoos are most definitely against the student code of conduct, but just about everything Ian Gallagher does is against any code of conduct. He smiles like he has a secret and grins like he knows all of yours.

He is so fucking hot.

And he's _Mickey's_ boyfriend.

Press play.

"You didn't have to do that," Mickey mutters as soon as they enter the school. They dropped hands when Ian stepped ahead to open the heavy door for his boyfriend. The hallway they enter is deserted, everyone still in the cafeteria or out on the quad.

"Do what?" Ian asks innocently.

Mickey scoffs. "Out us in front of the whole school?"

Ian nods, running a hand through his hair. Mickey can't stop staring at that hand. The dusting of freckles over pale skin and blue veins.

Aside from the quiet moments of fumbling ecstasy they manage to steal as often as possible, Ian has never touched him in such a way. Certainly never where other people could see. They couldn't have that, not where they're from. It was dangerous for both of them. And yeah, maybe Mickey should be pissed that Ian put them in this situation, but he can't muster any feeling that isn't soft and warm in his chest.

Ian held his hand. Ian claimed him, in front of everyone. He had never done that before.

"I liked it," he grouses under his breath.

He can hear the smirk in Ian's voice. "I beg your pardon?"

"Fuck you, asshole." Mickey shoves at him, but Ian's too solid to budge. He grins and wraps an arm around Mickey's waist, tugging him close so they're flush to each other then he causally leans back against the wall, bringing Mickey with him.

"I'm sorry," he says honestly. "I shouldn't have done that. That bitch just—"

"I know," Mickey interjects. "She was a real cunt."

He glances up at Ian under his lashes and reaches a hand back to run his palm along Ian's hip to the small of his back. His fingers brush hard metal.

"Good thing you're always packin' heat. Motherfuckers know not to mess with a Gallagher."

Ian grins like it's a compliment. He squeezes Mickey's hip playfully. "Want me to make you a shiv?"

"Jesus," Mickey huffs. "If my ma found a fuckin' shiv while she was doing my wash, she'd shit a brick. She already wants to gut you."

"Mothers hate me," Ian purrs into Mickey's temple, kissing him sweetly.

"Fuck yeah, they do," he mumbles, positively glowing under Ian's gentle affection. "You, uh, comin' over after lights out?"

"Put a candle in the window for me, baby," Ian says, chuckling lowly in Mickey's ear.

Mickey bites his lip to prevent his face from splitting in two with a beaming smile. He can't help the tingly shiver that runs down his spine and makes his knees shake. Ian's always had that affect on him, since the day Mickey laid eyes on him at the bus stop first day of freshman year. Ian was lean and gangly back then, with long bangs that he blew out of his face constantly and a dark smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. Mickey wanted Ian as soon as he saw him. And that was when he knew.

Mickey is gay and managed to accept that about himself pretty easily despite the many teen drama tropes that taught him otherwise. His family kinda knows in that way that they figure as much but don't directly address it. They're fine with it, or at least they don't say they aren't. It's just one of those things that's there and accepted.

Unfortunately, at Ian's house, it isn't. Being gay is not acceptable in the eyes of a Gallagher. As far as Mickey knows, Ian hasn't told anyone in his family about his sexuality. But now that the whole school's been clued in, there's no way the gossip won't get back to the other Gallagher's.

"Maybe you should just come over after school," Mickey suggests hesitantly. "Your dad..."

"Is probably at The Alibi, drunk off his ass," Ian finishes. "C'mon, you don't gotta worry 'bout me. I can handle my dad."

Mickey snorts. "Yeah, you said that the last time he went on a bender. Then you showed up at my house with a fucking broken nose that _my_ dad had to set for you. You know I had to beg him not to call CPS?"

"And I appreciate that," Ian says. "But seriously, just let it go. I'll be fine."

There's no arguing with him, there never is. So Mickey does as he's asked and lets it go.

"I'll leave the latch undone, but I ain't lightin' a fuckin' candle for you, punk," he says to ease the mild tension.

Ian smiles and swoops in for a quick kiss. "Thanks, babe."

Mickey starts to roll his eyes at the pet name, but jumps a little when the bell for class goes off right over their heads. Ian doesn't flinch.

"I'll see you later," he mutters, dipping his head to brush his lips against Mickey's one more time.

Mickey doesn't hesitate to return his boyfriend's kiss.

"See ya, babe."


	2. young god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian walks around the side of the house and freezes. There's a candle in the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the rating went up. this chapter is significantly longer because ian has A Lot of Feelings.

"So you're, like, a fag now?"

Ian tenses. He had felt his brother moving through the house before he saw or heard him, but he didn't sense him coming into their shared room until it was too late. So much for getting out the window before Lip could find him.

"The fuck do you care?" Ian asks bitterly. He moves to face Lip, wary of keeping his back to him. Instincts kick in and he reminds himself which pocket his butterfly knife is in, calculates how long it will take to whip it out before Lip lunges for him.

His brother's crystalline eyes are angry when he meets them. Not surprising. He'll likely make his move any second.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" Lip hisses. "You could have fucking told me! I'm your goddamn brother!"

"Like fuck I could have said shit to you!" Ian quickly jumps down his throat. "You're so far up Frank's ass, you're seein' outta his mouth. Excuse me if I didn't wanna get fag bashed by my own fucking brother!"

Lip's eyes turn to violet-lidded slits. "You seriously believe I woulda said shit to Frank about this? I know how he is, Ian! I know he's a goddamn closet case who got beat to a pulp for it by his old man. If he knew—"

" _If?_ " Ian scoffs. "It's a goddamn miracle he's not already here holding a gun to my head."

The silence that follows is tense, fraught with the heavy implications behind Ian's words. They both know Frank is going to kill him. His son is a fag, so now he has to kill him.

"You gotta get the fuck outta here," Lip says quietly.

"One step ahead of ya." Ian slings his backpack over his shoulder and makes to move around Lip, but a strong arm shoots out to stop him.

When Ian dares to meet Lip's gaze, he's startled to see the soft look his brother gives him.

"Ian, you know it's okay, right?" Lip asks. "You know that... what you are is okay, no matter what Frank says. I would never... Ian, I would never."

There's an uncomfortable stinging behind the redhead's eyes. He blinks once and swallows hard. He has no idea what to say to that. He wants to believe his brother, wants to trust him just this once. But Lip has let him down time and time again. He cannot be trusted. None of them can.

"I'm leavin'," Ian says thickly, shoving Lip's arm out of his way. "Tell Fiona. If she even gives a shit."

"She won't," Lip assures him. "What do you want me to tell Debbie and Carl? Doubt Carl'll care, but Debs ain't gonna be happy. Frank's gonna make her start slingin' to pick up the slack."

"She'll get over it," Ian says, stepping into the hallway and clunking down the stairs. He reaches for the back door in the kitchen, but once again, Lip bars his passage by stepping in front of him.

"You goin' to Milkovich's?" he asks. It's a calculated question, Ian knows it. He just isn't sure what the endgame is. So he keeps his mouth shut.

That's apparently answer enough for Lip.

"Seriously?" he chuckles. "You're stickin' it to Mickey _Milkovich_? That geek who built a replica of The Shire for last year's science fair?"

"It was to demonstrate how earth-sheltered homes are energy-efficient and good for the environment," Ian snaps. "He got second place. And don't fuckin' call him that."

Lip whistles and holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Whoa. Didn't mean to bag on your man, bro. Just thought a goody two shoes like that's an odd choice is all. Ain't his dad a pig?"

Ian scrunches up his nose in mild disgust. "Yeah. He's the fuckin' Chief of Police. Barely tolerates me."

Lip snorts. "No shit. If I was him, I wouldn't want you anywhere near my son."

Begrudgingly, Ian feels a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, well, Mickey's parents are cool with us bein'—y'know..."

Lip nods slowly. "Good. That's, ah, good," he says, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. He scratches at his neck and side-steps Ian, leaving the way out clear.

Ian glances back at his brother and hesitates before saying, "Thanks, Lip. For, uh, whatever."

"Yeah, n-no problem," Lip stammers, clearing his throat. "Now get the fuck outta here 'fore Frank stumbles in and tries to blow your brains out. I don't wanna get caught in the middle of that shit."

Needing no further motivation, Ian bangs the door open and slams it behind him. 

The night is chilly compared to the nice day they had earlier, all blue skies and fluffy white clouds. Now the sky is inky black, not even a moon out to replace the busted street lights. Ian pulls his hood up and starts walking through back alleys. Mickey's house is just a few blocks away, still on the shit side of town, but it's a world away from the home Ian grew up in.

Mrs. Milkovich keeps a strict household. She's one of those "you better be home for dinner by 6" kinda moms. The ones who make their kids do homework before they can play outside and gives them a 9 o'clock curfew. She packs Mickey and Mandy's lunches every day and shows up for every parent-teacher conference. She's always up Mandy's ass about skipping school and smoking. Constantly grilling Mickey about his whereabouts, asking if he'd been with "that Gallagher boy". She's pretty open about the fact that Ian is not her preferred choice for her precious son, but she's far from hostile towards him. 

When Ian comes over to her house—which has been often in the last three years—the Milkovich matriarch fusses over how skinny he is and always forces him take a second helping at dinner. She asks about his grades ("I'm failing everything but English, thank you for asking, Mrs. Milkovich.") and makes him sit at the dining room table with Mickey and Mandy to do homework. He usually ends up playing footsie with Mickey and cajoling answers out of Mandy while their mother looks on disapprovingly as she does the dishes. It's no secret that Mrs. Milkovich hates Ian's tattoos and his slouch and his general _don't give a fuck_ attitude, but she never treated him like less than for it.

Mr. Milkovich is a bit more laid back. He's a workaholic who overcompensates for his absence at home by giving his kids whatever they want. For Mandy, it's usually money or the keys to the family car so she can go out with her friends. Mickey's only real request is that his father accept him for who he is, especially his relationship with Ian. 

Ian doesn't have a lot of contact with Terry, mostly just awkward greetings and forced small talk. But there had been more than one occasion that the Gallagher boy showed up on his doorstep with a busted face or a broken limb explained away with flimsy stories about falling down the stairs. He didn't buy it, of course, but Mickey always begged his dad to keep his nose out of it because involving outside sources would only make things worse. Mr. Milkovich, a child of the system himself, agreed on the grounds that Ian save his cell number in his phone, just in case. It was a nice gesture that made Ian very uncomfortable. He had no experience with parents that give a shit.

Basically the Milkovich's are the fucking Brady Bunch in Ian's eyes. 

As he comes around the back of the house, he stops to admire Mrs. Milkovich's rose bush. He "admires" it by pulling out his knife and cutting off the biggest rose he can find. He makes sure to remove the thorns, already anticipating the sweet blush Mickey will give him when he presents him with the flower. 

Ian walks around the side of the house and freezes.

There's a candle in the window.

It's a small tea candle, probably something Mickey rooted around in a junk drawer to find. The flickering little flame makes shadows jump and dance over Mickey's slightly parted drapes.

_Fucking sap._

Ian moves closer, grinning like a maniac. He catches his reflection in the window. He looks happy. So fucking happy. Lifting a finger, he starts tapping the _Stars Wars_ theme on the glass. It's so dark in the bedroom that he can barely make out Mickey's silhouette throwing the curtains aside. He picks up the candle and sets it on the desk beside him before pushing the window open. Ian ducks back to avoid getting hit in the head then swoops back in, smiling up at his boyfriend in the dim candlelight.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hi."

Ian brings his hand out from behind his back and grandly presents the red rose he pilfered to Mickey.

"With love’s light wings did I o'erperch these walls," he recites loftily. "For stony limits cannot hold love out. And what love can do, that dares love attempt."

The way Mickey's breath catches, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit, eyes blinking slowly, is so beautiful to Ian, he wishes he was an artist so he could recreate this moment on paper, keep it with him until the day he dies.

Mickey's hand trembles as he reaches out to take the rose. His fingers are warm when they brush Ian's. The redhead is soaring, high off that pretty blush he knew he could coerce out of his boyfriend.

"Seriously?" Mickey tries to speak with bite, but he only manages to sound breathless. "You're givin' me flowers and reciting _Romeo and Juliet_ at my window now?"

"One flower." Ian cocks his head, grinning. "And it worked, didn't it?"

Mickey seems to pull himself together a little and clears his throat, spine straightening. "I dunno. What's your motive?"

"My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."

"Jesus Christ," Mickey huffs. He's nearly panting when Ian reaches up to run his knuckles over Mickey's cheekbones. The black ink of Ian's FUCK LOVE tattoo stands out in stark contrast against Mickey's pale skin. Ian wraps his hands around the back of Mickey's neck and pulls him down into a gentle kiss.

They didn't always do this. For a long time, when they first started this thing they had, Ian wouldn't allow for kissing. It was too intimate, too personal. He had no problem putting his mouth anywhere else on Mickey, but a kiss was different. He couldn't let Mickey get attached like that. What they had was supposed to be temporary, convenient for Ian at the time but easily escapable when necessary. 

But then _temporary_ turned into an entire year and then two. In that time, Mickey became something else entirely to Ian. He became his first love.

Now here they were, kissing like they'd been poisoned and the antidote is in each other's mouths. Ian is greedy to deepen the kiss, forming his lips to Mickey's and prying his mouth open so he can slide their tongues together. His nose bumps Mickey's glasses as they make out, but he's used to that. The angle is kind of awkward and he has to stand on his toes that are getting a little achey, but Ian could not care less. He loves kissing Mickey. He craves it like nicotine, like liquor. It burns down his throat and flows with warmth into his chest.

Mickey pulls away, gasping. "Get your ass in here. Now." He backs away from the window into the darkness.

Ian shrugs off his backpack and tosses it in before bracing his hands on the window sill and pushing himself up, bringing a booted foot up to assist. Mickey reaches to steady him as soon as he stumbles into his bedroom.

"We gotta keep it down," Mickey murmurs, pulling the window closed and latching it. "My old man's actually home gettin' some sleep."

Ian nods as he toes off his boots and kicks them under Mickey's desk. He takes off his leather jacket, folding it over the back of the chair. It feels like taking off armor, like peeling away layers of chainmail he wears to protect against vulnerability.

"So..." Mickey peeks up at him, his hands fidgeting with his rose. "Since I can't see any blood, I take it you didn't run into Frank."

Ian shakes his head and plops down on the couch shoved against the wall. "Nah. Just Lip."

Mickey tenses. "What'd he have to say?"

"Buncha bullshit, as usual," Ian mutters. "Tried to be all understanding and crap."

"Well, that's... good, innit?" Mickey asks hesitantly. "He didn't take a swing at you. That's a start." When Ian doesn't say anything, he continues, "What are you gonna do about... y'know, the situation?"

Ian sags back into the couch and runs both his hands over his hair, folding his arms behind his head. "Dunno. Probably couch surf for a bit. Still got some of Monica's meth connections. If I can score them some crank off Carl, they might let me stay with 'em."

Mickey wrinkles up his nose. "Jesus, that sounds like shit. Why won't you just let me ask my parents if you can stay here?"

Ian sighs heavily. They've had this conversation too many fucking times. "Because your parents will start snooping into my business if you do. Bad enough they hate me just for my reputation as Frank's son. If they had any idea I was dealing to pay the bills, your pops would arrest me himself."

"He would not," Mickey tries to say, but his argument is feeble at best and they both know it. Terry tolerates a lot of things, but drugs are not one of them. Last year he smelled pot on Mandy's clothes at dinner one night and put her on lockdown for an entire month. If he knew about the kind of shit Ian deals, he'd make sure the Gallagher boy was locked away in juvie posthaste.

"Look, you don't need to worry about it," Ian reassures him. "This isn't the first time I've had to avoid Frank. He'll probably drink himself into oblivion and forgot all about it in a few days."

It's a lie. Ian can see from the look on Mickey's face that he knows it's a lie. But he doesn't call him out on it. He never does. It's one of the reasons Ian loves him.

"You can stay tonight, though... right?"

Ian glances up and catches Mickey's blue eyes with his. "'Course I can. C'mere."

Mickey bites his bottom lip and mutters, "Hold on," before shuffling into his adjoining bathroom. Ian listens as he rifles through a cabinet and runs the sink. He comes back a minute later with a small plastic cup in hand and Ian beams. Of course Mickey put his flower in water right away. Of course he would want to keep it as long as possible. 

Ian's heart skyrockets.

As soon as Mickey sets the cup down on his desk, Ian lunges for him and pulls him into his lap on the couch. He leans in for a kiss, but Mickey dodges the affection.

"Wait. I wanna talk to you 'bout somethin'."

"Mickey..."

"Now just gimme a minute," Mickey interjects gently. "I understand why you don't wanna say shit to my parents, but _I_ don't want you runnin' around with Monica's old crew, Ian. The accident wasn't that long ago; I still vividly recall what that lot of losers is like."

Ian snorts. _The accident_. Mickey always calls it that when he dares to bring it up. As if Monica climbing onto the roof and jumping off because she thought she could fly was an accident. It wasn't bad luck that the Gallagher kids were forced to watch their mom plummet to her death while the firefighters stood around uselessly in the yard. No, it wasn't just chance. They all knew Monica was fucking crazy. Her death didn't even really surprise them. Debbie was the only who cried as she clung to Carl. Lip and Ian looked away while Fiona stared at Monica's body with a stony face. When Frank bothered to show up on the scene—drunk—he completely lost it, falling over the body and sobbing into her chest. But it was too late. Her spine snapped instantly.

"And what exactly would you suggest I do instead?" Ian asks a little roughly, pulling back to get a good look at Mickey's face.

Mickey pushes his glasses up his nose with his index finger. His cheeks are flushed. "Look, we don't have to tell my parents, but will you promise me you'll come back here at night? You can hide away here, in my room. Please?"

Ian's body relaxed very suddenly. He falls back against the couch cushions, wrapping his arms tightly around Mickey and dragging him along.

"Of course, baby," he vows. "I promise." He turns his head to plant a kiss to Mickey's temple before resting his forehead there. "Thank you," Ian murmurs into his ear.

Mickey brings his hands up to wrap around Ian's neck. "You know I'm just bein' selfish, right?" he teases. Another reason Ian loves him so much. He always knows what to say to make his boyfriend feel better. "I just want you here so I can suck your dick whenever I want."

Ian huffs out a laugh, a little shocked by Mickey's sudden bluntness. "Oh, is that right?"

"Mhm," Mickey hums. He slides out of Ian's lap and lands on his knees, nestling between Ian's thighs. "I swear to God, if your loud ass wakes my dad up, you are so dead."

"I'll be quiet as a church mouse," Ian promises, his breath getting away from him a little.

Mickey gives him a smirk and reaches to pop the button of his jeans, slowly pulling down his zipper. Ian is halfway there already, his cock throbbing with need when Mickey's knuckles brush his shaft. He lifts his hips so Mickey can pull down his briefs far enough to get his mouth around the head of Ian's dick. Ian hisses from the sudden heat.

Sex with Mickey is hands-down his favorite thing in the word. Anal, oral, whatever, Ian fucking loves every second. He even loves dry-humping Mickey into the couch while his parents have date night. Mickey is just so fucking _good_ at all of it. It's part of the reason Ian kept up with him for so long in the beginning.

Their first time with each other was Mickey's first time, ever. Ian was annoyed when Mickey stumblingly told him he was a virgin. He thought he'd have to be gentle and try not to be a completely selfish asshole for once. But Mickey proved to be far from delicate. After the initial pain and discomfort, during which Ian had him lay on his stomach as he thrusted shallowly, Mickey had suddenly sat up, pushed Ian onto his back, and mounted him like an expert. He fumbled for a bit before Ian grabbed his hips and helped establish a rhythm that had them both gasping and moaning.

Mickey was a natural. For having such a shy demeanor at home and in school, he was surprisingly bold when it came to sex. He quickly discovered what he liked and how he wanted it, and had no problem telling Ian. Actually, half the time he didn't even say anything to Ian. 

Mickey was all action in the bedroom. (Or under the bleachers or at the dugout.) As their relationship—Ian always refused to call it that, but that's what it was—progressed, Mickey learned to take charge and Ian let himself turn into a whimpering, shaking mess under him as Mickey stroked his hair and whispered sweet nothings to him while they moved together. Ian sometimes allowed that, when they were fucking. He not-so-secretly liked when Mickey talked to him.

Now that Ian had accepted that he belonged to Mickey and they were official, it made sex all the better. Every single time he fucked into Mickey's tight heat and listened to those babbling reassurances, Ian felt there was never going to be anything better for the likes of him.

"Oh, fuck," he whines, biting his lip to swallow back a groan. "Mickey, baby— _fuck_ , that feels good."

Mickey pulls off his cock with an annoyed scowl, adjusting his crooked glasses. "The fuck did I tell you? Keep it down, Faye Reagan!" he hisses.

"Okay, okay! Please don't stop," Ian begs in a hush. The sight of Mickey's flushed face and wet mouth are almost enough to push him over the edge, but he refuses to finish until he's buried deep inside Mickey.

Grinning, the brunet swallows Ian's cock back down and works his tongue down the underside of his shaft, deep-throating him in that way only Mickey can. How he got so damn good at it, Ian will never know. He supposes practice makes perfect. And _fuck_ , did Mickey take every chance to practice he could get. 

That tingly bundle builds at the base of Ian's spine as Mickey starts bobbing his head.

"Stop, stop," Ian whispers in a panic, reaching to grip Mickey's hair between his fingers and gently pull him off his dick.

Mickey backs off with an annoyed _humph_ and uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. "You were so close," he whines. "I wanted it."

"I know, sweetheart." Ian stands, whipping his shirt over his head as he does so. "Now help me finished getting undressed."

Mickey happily complies. First he tugs Ian's tight jeans the rest of the way off and tosses them aside before moving for his underwear. He hooks his fingers in the band and looks up at Ian with dilated eyes as he pulls the garment down with an aching slowness. Ian nearly growls at him for it because he hates being teased, but decides to exercise a little patience this once, knowing well it will be worth it.

When his briefs are gone and Ian finally stands naked before his boyfriend, Mickey looks up at him like a man down on his knees before a god. His hands smooth up Ian's thighs, over his hip bones. He runs his tongue along the V cut of his abs, nosing the orange patch of curls on his groin, licking the outline of his belly button. Mickey's fingers are in constant motion, tracing over every one of Ian's tattoos by memory. The cursive script of obscure lyrics on his ribcage. The koi fish that swims in a circle on his hip. The long-stemmed red rose that winds its way around the curve of his belly button. Mickey knows each and every patch of ink intimately, obsessively. God knows he's spent plenty of time admiring them.

Every touch and kiss and swipe of Mickey's tongue sets off a tingling starburst under Ian's skin. He's writhing under Mickey's ministrations, biting the inside of his cheek painfully to keep from moaning at the electric pleasure.

"Mickey," Ian pants. "Mickey, please. I need you."

It's all he has to say. Mickey gets to his feet with unusual grace and takes Ian's hand, stepping backwards to lead him to the bed. He stops when the back of his knees hit the mattress and looks up at Ian with shameless want.

The threads of Ian's patience are unraveling by the second. He lunges forward to kiss Mickey hungrily, fingers digging into his hips hard. He pulls away long enough to yank Mickey's shirt over his head before returning to their heavy petting. He fumbles with Mickey's jeans, cursing against his mouth when the fucking zipper sticks. Mickey bats his hands away and does it himself, somehow managing to stay composed while Ian vibrates with anticipation. He shimmies out of his pants and boxers in one go, barely having enough time to kick them aside before Ian falls into him and they collapse on the bed.

It's been too long since he was last inside Mickey. Three days was torture for Ian now. He barely went three hours without having his hands on Mickey. And how could he resist? Mickey's a live wire under his touch, rutting and grinding for friction beneath him. _More, more, more_ , he babbles into Ian's ear. Ian gives him what he wants, sliding their cocks together and running his hands over every inch of him he can reach.

"Lube." 

It's a demand, no room for argument. Ian reluctantly pulls away to blindly swipe behind Mickey's head and grab for the tub of Vaseline off the headboard. He fumbles to pry it open and dips his fingers in, moving to reach between Mickey's legs.

"Nuh-uh," Mickey huffs. "Slick up. I'm ready for you."

Ian buries his face into Mickey's neck to smother his groan. He doesn't lift his head as he spreads the lubricant over his cock and positions himself at Mickey's entrance.

"Ready?" he asks breathlessly.

"Yes." Mickey's voice is steady.

 _Fuck_ , is he ever. Ian's dick slides between his cheeks with ease, filling him up in one push. Mickey sighs and relaxes into the mattress like every tension has left his body. He keeps his arms hooked under Ian's shoulders, clinging to him as he starts to move, nails raking over the phoenix wings inked on his back. The bed is mercifully quiet; Mickey must have taken some WD-40 to the hinges because usually the frame whines and creaks under them. It makes Ian smile against his neck. Mickey had definitely been ready for him.

"You feel so good," Ian murmurs into his ear. He doesn't spare him any of his weight, draping over Mickey as he lazily thrusts in and out of his slick, tight ass.

"Ian, baby," Mickey gasps, grinding down onto the redhead's cock impatiently. "Harder. Give it to me harder."

Ian obliges, slamming into Mickey with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. He keeps a slow, steady pace, fucking Mickey into the mattress the way he knows he likes. It doesn't take long for him to completely lose himself in Mickey.

Ian has always felt too much. He never knows the how or why of what he's feeling, but he knows that every emotion is all-consuming, seeping down to his core. Most of the time it's a tired boredom that settles over him. Other times it's a violent rage that blinds him. 

But when he's with Mickey, the things he feels are warm and fluttery. Mickey makes him feel light as air. The feeling is gentle enough, but he still feels it too much. It turns Ian into a sobbing, panting, desperate mess on top of Mickey.

When his hips stutter and Ian loses his rhythm, Mickey is quick to make up the slack. He plants his feet on the mattress and grinds his hips down, fucking himself on Ian's cock at a frantic pace. Ian tucks his arms under Mickey to wrap around his waist, letting him take the lead as he pleases. He tries to meet Mickey thrust for thrust, but for the most part, all Ian can focus on is muffling his distressed whines into Mickey's neck and shoulder. He licks and nips and bites at his flesh feverishly. He wants to absorb Mickey into his skin, wants to unhinge his jaw and swallow him whole in a way that cannot be considered healthy.

"'M close," Ian manages to wheeze out.

"Almost, baby," Mickey pants. "Just... hold on... one more minute."

One minute is far too long for Ian. He whimpers against Mickey's skin and squeezes him tighter. Mickey squirms to put some room between their sweaty torsos so he can reach down and pump his cock in time with his thrusts. Ian pulls his face out of Mickey's neck to watch his ass swallow Ian's dick. His fist blurs over his shaft. He's taking his own pleasure, using Ian however he wants to finish himself off. It's so fucking hot, enough to send Ian over the edge. He shakes with the effort not to cry out.

" _Mickey_ ," Ian gasps. "Oh, fuck, Mick. I love you. I love you so fucking much."

A rush of adrenaline has him pumping furiously into Mickey, chasing his orgasm. The edges of his vision go white. It nearly hurts, it's so good.

Mickey sighs blissfully under him as he spills over his fist and his soft belly. His hand stills and he sags into the mattress weightlessly.

" _Fuck_ , Ian."

The redhead collapses on top of him with a wet squelch. Mickey giggles, tipping his forehead against Ian's and wrapping his arms around his neck. Ian smiles down at him, feeling calm for the first time in days.

"Thus with a kiss I die," he mutters sleepily, pressing his lips to Mickey's.

Mickey huffs out a laugh against his mouth, but returns the kiss with vigor. He's grinning when he pulls back to gaze up at his boyfriend.

"You memorize the whole play or what, Romeo?" he teases.

Ian shrugs. "Just the lines that would get me in your pants."

Mickey chuckles, pecking Ian on the lips. "You're unbelievable," he mutters against his mouth.

"Mmm," Ian hums low in his throat. "You ain't complainin'."

"Nope," Mickey says with a pop.

They lay in comfortable silence on Mickey's hot, damp sheets, listening to the train rumble on its tracks in the distance. Mickey's fingers run through Ian's messy hair as Ian presses kisses all over his face. Their chests rise and fall together, breaths fanning over each other's cheeks.

Sometimes, this is the best part. This sweet afterglow that Ian wants to curl up and live in.

A car with a thumping bass drives in front of the house, disturbing their peace. Ian groans and pulls his softened cock out of Mickey, who winces. He rolls to lay on his side, the length of his body still pressed tightly against Mickey's.

Mickey sits up a little to pull the comforter over their hips and relaxes back into his pillows, turning his face to look at Ian.

"I love you, too," he says clearly.

Ian's heart stutters.

He always says those words to Mickey in the heat of the moment. When they're fucking, when they're fighting, when they're making up or breaking down. After all this time, he still can't just _say_ it and let it be. No, he has to clam up and tremble with a lingering fear that has been beaten into him with familiar, angry fists.

Mickey, however, has no fear when it comes to those words. He's told Ian he loves him for more than a year, since even before Ian claimed Mickey as his. (In private, at least. Until yesterday, they had been closeted as hell.) The first time Mickey said it was right after Monica threw herself off that roof. Ian had become distant and cold towards him, and Mickey all but begged Ian not to shut him out completely. He said it out of desperation, Ian knew that. But he also knew that Mickey meant it. And that terrified him. This thing they had was no longer inescapable. Not without someone getting hurt.

Ian disappeared for two weeks after that. When he returned, he immediately sought out Mickey at his house and politely asked his ma if he was home after _politely_ knocking on the front door. Mrs. Milkovich was reluctant to let him in, despite the effort he'd made to wear long sleeves and comb his hair out of his face. She only stepped aside when he met her steely gaze with pleading eyes and whispered, "Please."

As soon as Mickey allowed him entrance into his room, he had dropped to his knees and begged his forgiveness. Ian's time away showed him just how much he fucking needs Mickey. Every minute away from him had been torture, and reinforced the fact that he couldn't function without him. Ian drank and smoked and shot up to numb the feeling he wanted so badly to rip out of his chest and destroy. But it was no use. 

Ian was in love with Mickey. He had been for a long time.

Mickey didn't fold easily. He closed himself off, not just to his ex but to everyone, though not with the same frigid disdain Ian had. He crawled on hands and knees into his shell, reverting back to the familiar role of wallflower. He became timid and shy towards Ian, treating him like little more than a stranger. That cut deeper than anything. 

Mickey wasn't just a fuck or a potential boyfriend to Ian. He was his best friend. He pretty much had been since he climbed on the bus first day of freshman year with a shiner and Mickey had quietly stuttered out, "You can s-sit here if you w-want," as everyone else stared at him with a mixture of pity and unease. 

Ian sat down, and the rest was history.

"Mickey," Ian whispers into the gentle air between their faces. He waits until Mickey blinks his tired eyes open and looks at him.

"I love you."

Ian's heart aches at the way Mickey's eyes widen slightly and his mouth drops open. It's not the first time he's said it, but it feels different. It _is_ different. He should have said it like this so much sooner. 

Like he means it.

Mickey closes the gap and presses a hard, lusty kiss to Ian's mouth. He doesn't linger, pulling back to gaze into Ian's eyes searchingly, as if he's seeking the answer to a long overdue question. He must find what he's looking for because his face splits in a beaming smile and Ian's heart breaks out in a wild sprint.

"You're such a fucking sap," Mickey murmurs.

Ian snorts softly. "Don't think I didn't notice the fuckin' candle, you dork."

Mickey blushes. His glasses are completely skewed on his face, smudged and fogging up with their warm breaths. His cheeks are pink and lips bee-stung. He's the most beautiful thing Ian has ever seen.

"It was a joke," Mickey grumbles to try and save face. "Y'know, like a _haha funny_ , inside joke kinda thing."

Ian smiles and nuzzles into his boyfriend's neck, forehead knocking his glasses further off his nose. 

"You are so crazy about me, Mickey Milkovich," he boldly declares.

Mickey huffs out a surprised breath and brings a hand up to stroke Ian's cheek.

"You are so full'a yourself, Ian Gallagher," he quips.

Ian chuckles, kissing under his jaw. "Nah. It's written all over your fuckin' face. You _love_ me," he sing-songs. "You're gonna leave a candle in the window every night to light my way home."

Mickey sucks in his bottom lip and glances away shyly. When Ian nudges under his jaw with his pointed chin, he blinks and returns his stare. They watch each other with soft eyes.

"Yeah," Mickey croaks out after a beat. "I'll light a candle for you every night, babe."

Ian grins. "Thanks, babe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first completed attempt at smut and it was largely inspired by [this post](http://malmao.tumblr.com/post/113875917710/hi-hello-like-i-just-wanna-say-why-do-all-this).


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